


You're Special To Me

by grump_ass



Category: American Revolution RPF, Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: First Kiss, M/M, Slurs, bed sharing, charles is a stressed alcoholic baby, john is like 'nah im just cold' but we all know that's a lie, john thinks he is special!, sorry guys it was the 1700s and homosexual doesnt have any recorded use until like the mid 1800s
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-23
Updated: 2016-07-23
Packaged: 2018-07-26 06:26:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7563754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grump_ass/pseuds/grump_ass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John had no reason to be in Charles' bed, but Charles was not in any rush to make him get out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You're Special To Me

“Are you still awake, Charles?”

  
Charles felt as if his eyes were swollen shut from exhaustion. He wasn’t used to working for men as demanding as Hamilton; or anyone else, for that matter. The man was absolutely relentless, a non stop force of nature. The only peace he found under Hamilton’s care was with Charles’ roommate and fellow intern, John.

“Charles, are you awake?” John repeated.

Charles sighed. “Yes, my friend, good lord.”

“Good. Move over, I wish to speak with you.”

Charles sputtered. “In my bed?”

“As opposed to at the table? It’s the middle of the night.”

“Exactly,” but he moved aside. John pushed past the blankets before sliding in next to Charles.

“This seems unnecessary, John-”

“Hush, it’s too cold outside for you to protest for the sake of prudishness. I will only leave if it makes you uncomfortable.”

It was cold outside. John was so warm. And, no, having John so close did not make him uncomfortable. It just scared him a little.

He knew what his father would think. And while on the one hand, he couldn’t care less what John Adams thought, he was terrified of doing anything too bad; anything that would truly test his father’s love for Charles.

He kept that to himself, though.

“What’s the matter, John,” Charles asked.

The man had begun to nestle close, making small noises of satisfaction.

“I was cold,” he answered happily.

“You woke me up in the middle of the night because you were cold?” Charles asked, exasperated.

“Yes, I did,” John replied sweetly before kicking up the blanket a bit so it floated down over their shoulders completely. Charles felt John’s fingers graze his own, ice cold.

“Good God, your hands feel frozen,” Charles exclaimed, taking John’s hands in his own, “You should have told me sooner, we could have started a fire.”

“It’s alright, I just wanted to warm up a little. I can go back to my bed soon,” John said, quiet now. His hands were still in Charles’ as the boy attempted to rub warmth into them.

“Nonsense, you’re going to freeze to death at this rate,” Charles replied.

“I don’t need you to fuss over me, Charles,” John said, but his voice was soft; he had said this affectionately.

“You’re the one who said he was cold, don’t get testy with me when I don’t want you to freeze to death,” Charles protested, not recognizing the kindness in John’s voice.

John laughed at that, soft and airily, fingers curling as Charles warmed his hands.

It was too dark to see the other’s face, so Charles was not able to give John any warning that he was about to breathe on his hands. The other started when Charles exhaled against his knuckles.

“What-”

“Sorry, that was me.”

“I guessed, what are you doing?”

“Warming your hands,” Charles answered, unsure now. He hadn’t expected John to react so strongly, “I’m sorry, I can stop-”

“Don’t,” John said sharply, “I was just surprised. I like it.”

Charles didn’t know how that made him feel, or why it made him feel the way he did. All he could do was blush and duck his head back to where it had been to blow warm air over John’s knuckles.

“It’s how my mother warmed my hands,” Charles supplied sheepishly. John just made a noise of acknowledgment, interlocking his own fingers as Charles continued warming them.

They laid in silence for a while, Charles warming John’s fingers and attempting to rub warmth into his flesh.

“Did your mother do this often?” John asked.

“Yes. I got cold very easily as a child.” He still did, but he gave up complaining about it. All he got was a glare from his father over his ‘insufferable whining.”

“My mother didn’t. But she would rub my hands. And my father made me mittens and gloves.”

“That’s right. Your father is a tailor.”

“Yes, he is. He also used to be a spy.” John spoke of his father with such reverence and pride that for a moment Charles felt ashamed for his angry thoughts about his own father. Instead of dwelling, he exhaled against John’s knuckles, pressing with more force.

“And do you want to be a tailor?”

“No. At least, I don’t think so,” John’s voice took a teasing tone now, “And what about you? Can you see yourself being the next vice president of the United States?”

“No,” Charles said easily.

“I think you could do very well.”

“Are you kidding? The country would go bankrupt within hours of my indoctrination.”

John laughed. “I don’t think so. You’d be a very kind president.”

“You only see me as kind because you know I'm nice when I'm drunk.” Which was almost always, or at least that was how it felt.

“You aren’t drunk right now,” John pointed out. No, he wasn’t. And for once, Charles was glad he wasn’t intoxicated; he wanted to remember how John’s hands felt in his own, and he couldn’t do that if he was downing an entire case of whiskey for the third time that week.

“Warming your hands isn’t kindness.”

“Then what is it?” John challenged.

Charles thought for a moment.

“...alright. Maybe it is kindness of sorts.”

“You are kind. And you could do anything, and well, I think.”

That was the first time anyone had told Charles that he could be anything more than the drunk and lazy son of a politician. It felt odd and heavy on his mind, but with John’s sweet words mingled in, it also felt like such strong and loving praise that he almost believed it was true.

“You’re too kind,” said Charles, unintentionally squeezed John’s hand.

“Alright,” John mumbled before freeing his hands, “Alright, okay, I believe that’s enough.”

Charles flushed in the dark, and began to apologize, he must have gone to hard, only to feel soft and slightly damp fingers press against his lips.

“John?”

“It’s the truth,” John insisted, “I believe you could be anything in this world.”

“John…”

“I mean it. I would never tell you anything less than the truth. And it would please me greatly if you stopped trying to convince me that you are anything less than the wonderful person that I know and care for.”

Charles hesitantly grasped John’s hand. “Thank you, John.”

A moment of silence. And then John took a deep breath, and the mattress dipped as John edged closer, mere inches of space between them.

“I have a question for you,” John stuttered, fingers faltering slightly.

“What is it?” Charles whispered back.

“What are you opinions on, uhm,” John hesitated, his fingers skirting down to Charles’ chin for a moment before returning back to his lips quickly, decidedly. “Sodomists?”

Charles caught his breath.

“Sodomists?”

“Men that enjoy being with… uhm… other men?”

Charles blinked, exhaling shakily. John shuddered. He was closer now, Charles could feel it.

“Why do you ask?” Charles managed.

“Why do you think?” John asked, voice soft.

Charles answered by closing the space between them and kissing John breathless.

John kissed him back, mouth opening as his hands latched onto the sides of Charles’ face, his soft noises and breaths washing over him like a low tide. At some point Charles was sure that he had heard John whisper his name when he paused to breath, but he couldn’t be sure of that, and he was too busy kissing John to answer him anyway.

* * *

 

“My father would hang me from the nearest tree if he found out that I…”

“I think I would fight your father five times over for you, Charles.”

“John, you are too peaceful, too sweet.”

“I would still do anything, if it was for you.”


End file.
